


Before I Ever

by avxry



Series: Private Fears in Public Places [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Hurt, M/M, Office Party, Social Anxiety, Support, anxiety attack, can you tell i like to pick on john adams, i also like office parties clearly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: "And I'd let you hit me before I ever let you hit the floor."
Thomas nearly has a anxiety attack at a company party, and Alexander is there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this might make more sense if you read the others first, but it also might be fine
> 
> warning: the following depicts an anxiety attack, and if that could be triggering for you, please stay safe and skip this one. i won't be bothered even a little, please be kind to yourselves

Thomas likes parties, he supposes. They're not bad. He prefers quiet, intimate get-togethers, nothing too fancy or upbeat, but he can deal with this. Not a problem. Definitely okay.

Or maybe not. He's not sure.

Logically, there is absolutely no reason for him to be on the verge of shaking at the thought of walking through those doors into the "office party" that Washington declared mandatory. Realistically, nothing inside the building is going to kill him, or even hurt him.

So why is he so anxious?

This is ridiculous. He takes a breath of the cold night air, tugs on the ends of his suit jacket to straighten it, and with a determined expression, he enters the building.

He expects it to be a little more dramatic than it is.

The party isn't even in the lobby. It's in an actual party room specifically designed for inter-company gatherings. Thomas has been in there once or twice, affiliating with their partners, but his memories of it are not fond. His palms get sweaty at the mere thought of talking to total strangers.

The lobby is quiet. It's not silent; the light music coming from the party room has drifted into the open area, practically teasing Thomas, taunting him. He digs his nails into his palms and keeps walking, trying to ignore the nervous pit forming in his gut.

He enters the party room, and it slightly surprised at how mellow it is. The music is gentle, wafting through the air calmly. His colleagues chat politely in corners and by a table set up with sodas and bottled waters.

None of them are as nervous as Thomas is, which is practical, logical.

Thomas knows he only makes it worse for himself by thinking these things. He knows that it's his social anxiety, that it's something he can't fix or change, and yet he still lets it get to him. That just makes the anxiety rear its head, charging through any sense of resolve that Thomas pretends he has.

His outer facade is very calm, composed. This is a secret that he has kept well-guarded. What would people think if they found out that a key member of the company, one who is in charge of proposals and partnerships, has to keep his hands from shaking when someone he doesn't know approaches him?

So he handles it well, out of necessity.

John Adams, a bumbling man with rosy cheeks and a tendency to always appear a bit tipsy, greets Thomas warmly. Thomas returns his smile casually, and they chat for a minute. All the while, Thomas's brain is on full alert, a blaring siren going off just loud enough to be a nuisance.

Adams finally leaves him, running off to find his wife. Thomas makes his way to the drink table, twisting open a bottle of water to both quench his thirst and give him something to do with his hands (when did they get so sweaty?).

He tries to keep to himself, playing on his phone in a corner, scrolling through Facebook posts that he's seen before, but he's not paying attention anyway. In his mind, he's doing breathing exercises, little chants or mantras, anything that will occupy his brain and keep it from getting more erratic.

An entire group of people approach him now. Their smiles are cheerful and warm, but Thomas's mind twists them into the grins of sharks, sharp and malicious, ready to devour him. He feels his stomach doing flips as he tries to copy their expressions.

They're talking about some project that he's supposed to be working on - he can't remember what it is. He can barely remember to breathe.

And then, as quick as blinking, someone steps between him and the other people, saying something to shoo them off. They flee, and Thomas's savior turns to face him.

"Are you okay?"

Alexander Hamilton is staring up at him with big, brown eyes, and if Thomas weren't so preoccupied trying to not have an anxiety attack, he'd probably think it adorable.

He can't verbally answer, so he just shakes his head a little to tell Alexander that no, he is not okay, get him out of here, get him out get him out -

Alexander grabs his hand firmly and drags him away. He can barely feel his feet beneath him, but he's sure that they've moved, because it seems as if he blinks and he's suddenly in the bathroom.

Alexander turns the lock on the door quickly and spins back around to look at Thomas, who is leaning against the cool wall, letting the chill pass through his clothes and onto his skin, calming him just a little.

"Look at me," Alexander commands, gentle but firm. Thomas complies. Alexander is nodding at him slowly, giving him a reassuring look. "Count with me. One, two, three . . ."

Thomas counts in his head first, nodding along slightly, and then he can feel the words forming in his mouth. They come out as actual sounds after a moment, and he can just barely feel some tension leaving the pit of his stomach.

Alexander reaches a hand up cautiously, moving a stray curl out of Thomas's eyes, his fingers brushing along his temple softly. He's giving him the most gentle look of concern Thomas could possibly imagine.

They keep counting for another minute or so, Thomas slowly feeling his shoulders relax, his hands unclench.

Alexander also visibly relaxes as Thomas does.

"Do you know where you are?" Alexander prompts quietly.

Thomas nods, barely. "Bathroom."

"Do you know who you are?"

"Thomas Jefferson."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Alexander Hamilton."

Thomas still feels the pool of anxiety in his gut, but it's muted, just a gentle murmur. He shuts his eyes in relief, tilting his head back to rest it on the wall.

Alexander speaks again, "Do you need anything?"

Thomas shakes his head gently. "Just . . . just a minute."

Alexander nods in response and takes a step back, leaning on the sink and watching Thomas worriedly. He had seen Thomas from across the room, looking subtly petrified in the gaggle of coworkers, and he hadn't been able to even really think about what he was doing before he did it.

Thomas finally opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment before meeting Alexander's eyes. His voice is a bit of a whisper as he says, "Thank you."

Alexander gives him a nod and a soft smile, still concerned. He wants to say something like _I didn't know you had social anxiety_ , or maybe _Does this happen often?_ But he just stays quiet, knows that Thomas probably doesn't need all of his comments.

Thomas sighs heavily, dropping his face into his hands and then dragging his fingers through his hair. He mumbles shakily, "I thought . . . I thought I was going to . . ."

Alexander takes a step forward, reclaiming his position directly in front of Thomas. "I would never let you," he says quietly, meeting Thomas's eyes. He's not sure what Thomas was going to say, what he thought he was going to do, but he knows that he means it; he would never let Thomas become whatever he's afraid of becoming.

Thomas, with weary eyes and an almost-smile, nods at him gratefully.

They just stare for a moment, the silence between them heavy. The music slides in from under the door, but they can't make out the words. It's slow and soft, and it feels almost like a piece off a soundtrack to their lives.

But Alexander grins suddenly. "Come on," he says with a nod toward the door, "I'll sneak you out."

Thomas adopts Alexander's grin as their hands find their way to each other's, and Alexander leads them out of the bathroom, back into the social arena.

Thomas isn't so scared this time.

**Author's Note:**

> firstly, let me just say that I have some anxiety, but not social anxiety, so I'm not really very familiar with anxiety attacks. that being said, please let me know if I messed it up somehow or if I could make it better, I don't want to be insensitive or over-simplify a truly terrible feeling, please please tell me!
> 
> secondly, thank you to everyone who commented on previous works in this series!! it makes me so happy to know that people enjoy my writing! I hope to keep this going at a good pace, but please forgive me if it takes a little while, I have very spotty wifi use
> 
> thirdly, my subscription to microsoft word finally went out, so I've been writing these on wordpad, which doesn't have spellcheck, so please forgive me for typos. also, worpad transfers formatting very badly, so if there are some things that should be italicized, I apologize and I promise I'll be back for them, it's just that my time online is usually limited
> 
> and lastly, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoy the next installments as well!!


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